Obsession
by debunker
Summary: Sherlock is a college graduate who shares a flat with his best pal John who is an aspiring doctor. Sherlock is confused about his future. He has studied Chemistry but is not sure what to do next. He has not been involved romantically or sexually yet and doubts he cares to be. But things change when one day he meets a famous actor Richard Brook who stars in John's favourite medical
1. Chapter 1

"What are you doing, Sherlock?" John ran into the kitchen coughing and flapping his arms trying to clear the air filled with a stinky smoke. He opened the window and angrily stared at Sherlock.

"My experiments." Sherlock put down his glasses calmly and immediately his eyes started watering as the smoke was not only stinky but pretty acrid too.

"You better stop it and eat something. Otherwise you will become even more pale and skinny and will never manage to get a date". John looked at him still angry but even somewhat paternal.

This very thin, very sharp young man with a crazy passion for suspicious chemical experiments which could compromise the integrity of the flat they rented together was his best friend for years now. They met the first year of the university looking for an affordable place in London. It was easy to get along as John studied Medicine and Sherlock did Chemistry so they had some common scientific interests too.

"Who says I need one?" Sherlock took off his gloves and left the kitchen with all his flasks, bottles and dishes still sitting on the kitchen table where the indignant John was now making himself a sandwich.

"Don't' turn over!" John yelled to Sherlock who had already taken possession of the remote and sank into his favourite armchair. "Emergency is starting in a minute."

Sherlock pulled a super annoyed face and kept it until Watson entered the room chewing energetically. Sherlock never hid his attitude towards this pretty stupid medical drama John was so obsessed with. John gripped the remote firmly taking it off Sherlock's hand who pulled his knees up in an offended manner.

"Why can' we watch something a bit more intellectual." Sherlock wrapped himself into his dressing gown John never could stop mocking. The whole way Sherlock dressed was constantly a target for John's mild mockery. He himself would pick up pretty simple clothes with a modern vibe which girls used to like. Nice girls whom John changed pretty often and whose names Sherlock always failed to remember.

"Because I like this show."

"You only like that actor, Richard Brook." Sherlock rolled his eyes back as if to say "bored, bored to death".

"I like the character. Such a heartthrob." John never hid the desire to become just like him one day when he becomes a doctor himself. Sherlock could bet John partly chose his future profession only to get more girls. Who does not like doctors?

"You're blond though." Sherlock studied John's appearance critically but John just dismissed his remark already totally absorbed in the opening titles.

Sherlock did not like to admit it but he secretly liked the actor too. Not the character, which was cheesy and written as a cliché but the actor himself. That face, the lips, the black hair, the way he moved and most of all the way he looked at people was intimidating and exciting. Sherlock would never admit it but he would read some interviews with him on the newspapers. They would constantly speculate whether Brook was gay and had someone.

John had finished his sandwich and followed the events with fascination. Sherlock watched him as he subconsciously imitated Brook's posture and the way he moved his eyebrows which made John look ridiculous. Sherlock really liked John and he was a treasure of a friend but sometimes he was just preposterous. Mainly when it had to do with girls. Sherlock would never do anything to attract their attention which John would sometimes comment on but never too hard. He might have started suspecting long time ago they were not Sherlock's area.

"Oh, you know, Molly called." John darted Sherlock a meaningful look which he chose to ignore. "She wanted to know whether you were coming to that post diploma party next week."

Molly was Sherlock's friend who it was as clear as day to John was desperately in love with Sherlock and probably thought that was her last chance to get him at this party. The problem was Sherlock never noticed anything and Molly never told him anything. John thought he could have tried to hit on Molly but judging from his experience she would have hardly fallen for anyone else before taking her each possible chance with Sherlock.

Sherlock did not really like the idea of the party but felt like John would make him come as he always did. He said it was good for Sherlock to go see people having fun from time to time but Sherlock never really felt confident on such occasions. He was not particularly apt at conversations and drinking. Let alone snogging someone in a dark corner. He has not yet had sex and sometimes wondered whether he really wanted to. John thought that was part of his problems with the world but never really made him pressure even if his jokes told it all straight enough: find someone or you will die miserable.

Sherlock never really felt quite attracted to anybody. He cast a glance at the screen. Ordinary people looked bleak to him and he never met anyone like this Brook. Maybe if he did he would feel something. Okay, more than something. Very much more. Sherlock caught himself at these stupid thoughts and felt relieved seeing John who had not noticed anything. Sherlock would stay with him like that watching tv as it was their ritual: John would like something and Sherlock would mock it and get all grumpy. But unfortunately he did not have time to do so as his shift at Speedy's was about to start. He did not like the job but it was a way to get some money to add something to the funds his parents provided him with every month. This summer would have been even tougher as Sherlock had to find himself a real job after graduation.

Sherlock was still a bit confused about what he was going to do next but he felt like this particular moment was not ideal to ponder about his future. Sandwiches and salads at Speedy's needed to be served. He grabbed his jacket and changed into it. John would always pick at him about dressing too properly for work but he did like his suits and preferred buying them instead of food. He looked at himself in the mirror and adjusted his curly hair. John gave him a furtive look. He would laugh at Sherlock for trying to make something out of himself but secretly he was a bit perplexed about having such good looks and just wasting them.

Sherlock ran down the stairs leaving John to his medical drama with almost no sensible plot and entered Speedy's which – what luck! - was just next to their front door. He changed into his usual apron and a white cap and patted Lestrade's shoulder who was just leaving. Greg gave him a huge smile. He was a good pal ready to become a policeman in autumn so they would not hang out together for long. They used to share a cigarette if they finished the shift together late at night.

"How are you doing?" Greg was genuinely nice to him, he happened to like Sherlock even if considered him a bit cookoo.

Sherlock just nodded not bothering himself to answer.

"Diploma and everything, huh?" Greg's voice changed to a bit cautious. "Must be having a party, aren't you?"

Oh, a party, Sherlock felt so bored again. Everybody cared so much about this insignificant evening. He just shrugged his shoulders. "Can I come?" Greg sounded almost shy. Sherlock shrugged his shoulders again. "Why not?"

"Ask Molly, will you?" Greg's cheeks turned red and Sherlock could not help but smiling knowingly. Lestrade had a massive crash on Molly but never had enough courage to ask her anything directly, maybe that was his last chance to do, they would hardly party together after graduation. A new life was going to start.

He nodded approvingly and Greg exhaled relieved.

"Call me after, ok?" Sherlock nodded again.

Greg left visibly cheered up.

Sherlock felt even more annoyed. At least he had a person to chat to when they used to have shifts with Lestrade but it was not today.

So he gave a long sigh and started rearranging sandwiches and salads and lukewarm pasta on the counter. He would bring a chemistry book to read secretly when no one approached him and that was the case. He would soon lose himself in the description of tests and experiments he dreamt of replicating in his kitchen and hopefully in a lab in the future. Molly would let him use the lab she worked in from time to time but Sherlock would like having his own one. Maybe one day…

He got so lost in his thoughts that he did not even realized there was someone talking to him until that someone raised his voice –somehow familiar to Sherlock – to ask which of the sandwiches were fresh.

Sherlock blinked slowly focusing his gaze on the client. The first thing he noticed was his piercing gaze and the pupils which almost merged with his irises. Sherlock felt somehow paralyzed under this demanding look and he froze to the spot waiting for this insistent voice to ask him something else again. Seeing Sherlock in this state the man could not hold a smirk and the realization struck Sherlock: that was Richard oh my God Brook from the TV. He did not look quite the same as he did in the show. He did not look so neat, more relaxed, and younger which was curious but the characteristic sharp feeling of his whole appearance and manners had gone nowhere. Sherlock felt blood rushing to his cheeks and his heart beating in his throat as he replied.

"Everything we have is fresh."

Brook smirked again and Sherlock was sure the red colour of his face intensified and he could feel blood pumping though his veins under this direct gaze as Richard scanned him up and down with an expression Sherlock could not read.

"Then I'll have this egg sandwich". Sherlock nodded swallowing hard and took the packed sandwich from the counter putting it on the plate. "Eggs enhance sexual vigor." Brook dropped watching Sherlock's reaction who got so embarrassed that made a whole pile of paper napkins fall and bent down to pick them up to the floor muttering "shit" hoping the actor could not hear him. But he did not only hear Sherlock but stared at him as well. To do so he walked round the corner of the counter and when Sherlock unbent abruptly they almost bumped foreheads as Richard was leaning closer to watch Sherlock's hectic embarrassed movements. Sherlock saw Richard's perfect face so close to his that something inside him turned and he felt he could have kissed him that moment. He certainly felt attracted to him. They moved back in a sort of a slow waltz and despite the fact Richard walked with his back forward Sherlock felt he was leading among them two. It took him back to the dancing classes he attended as a child. He never particularly liked the girls who were his partners because they always waited for him to lead but Sherlock did not feel like leading though he was fascinated with dancing. Sherlock's eyes must have turned too dreamy as Richard took a big step back breaking the spell. A gap suddenly opened between them made Sherlock shake off his daydreaming and cough self-consciously. He was unable to take his eyes off Richard and only stared at him as he unwrapped his sandwich and started eating it darting killer looks at Sherlock. Sherlock felt really shy under his gaze. He must have been looking a bit sick as he had not been eating properly in these late days and the recent flu still had him weary.

"I have never seen such a reaction to my presence." Richard remarked chewing his sandwich slowly studying Sherlock's appearance. Sherlock felt the need to rush straight to the loo to splash cold water in his face to stop this teenage burning. He did not know what to say except for "Oh my God, you're so hot. May I kiss you?" but he doubted that would have been appropriate.

"If you want an autograph just tell me." Richard swallowed a bite and the movements of his throat woke up something very primal in Sherlock's stomach.

"I… I don't have paper on me." Sherlock immediately regretted this awkward excuse. It was as if he was denying being a fan, looking for an excuse not to get his autograph. Oh, could it be worse?

"I could sign your shirt." Richard licked his lips and Sherlock felt it was only to collect bread crumbs from his mouth. He felt his knees went weak and he almost had to prop himself up the counter. "Girls ask me to do this all the time." Richard wiped his mouth with a napkin. And Sherlock suddenly found his voice.

"I'm not a girl." Richard smirked and gave him a flirty look. Sherlock wanted to stand up to it and dared shifting his eyes to study Richard's t shirt which did not hide the lines of his torso. Sherlock wondered how he looked without.

"Boys do too." Richard almost whispered leaning closer and winked. Is it so obvious that I am gay? Is he assuming I am gay because he is?

"Are you gay, Mr. Brook?" Sherlock blurted out all of a sudden taking Richard a bit aback.

He lifted his brow at Sherlock.

"I am not going to tell you. Because this is a secret I cannot reveal." He paused a while and his eyes were screaming "Of course, I am!". "But I will tell you another secret. Brook is my pseudonym."

"Oh," Sherlock exhaled surprised, "what is your real name then?"

Richard scanned him a bit as if deciding whether to tell him or not.

"Jim Moriarty."

The sound of this Irish surname made Sherlock's heart jump. It was sensual to his ear. He decided he would google the meaning.

"So, you want an autograph?"

Sherlock nodded hastily. Oh God, he did.

"Could you sign one for my friend, he is such a fan of yours!" Sherlock immediately pictured John's face. He would be on cloud nine.

"What's his name?"

"John, John Watson. We live together, he's my…"

Richard's flashing stare stopped Sherlock. Oh, it sounded weird, less than anything he wanted Richard… Jim to think he was involved with someone. Oh, how stupid, how utterly idiotic this feeling was, but he just wanted him to know he had no one, he was free, in case…. Mmm… in case… what case? You idiot! "… friend" he finally exhaled.

"Okay, what is your address?" Richard lifted his eyebrows questioningly.

"It's just next to the shop. It's 221B Baker st. "

"Okay, tomorrow you'll have my autographs for your friend John and yourself. What's your name by the way?"

Richard's tone was casual but Sherlock felt deep under he was more curious about him than he wanted to show.

"Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes."

Brook smiled, almost smirked at him.

"The name is Sherlock Holmes and the address is 221 B Baker st." And with these words he left.

Sherlock stood there for some minute feeling as he had been struck over the head. The rest of the shift passed as if in a dream. All Sherlock could think about was exiting the shop and running up the stairs to tell John every detail about his incredible meeting.

And so he did as soon as the shift was over.

He stormed into the flat searching for John and finding him right where he had left him, almost napping in front of the tv.

"John, you would not believe what happened today!"

John listened incredulous and momentarily awaken. He only interrupted Sherlock's story with "oh" and "shit" and he only commented when Sherlock told him that Richard wanted to sign his shirt.

"I knew he was gay." He sounded pleased with himself.

Sherlock somehow felt jealous of Richard's sexual orientation and he did not tell John about the pseudonym. He felt it made the story even more special.

Finally he came to bed exhausted and stupidly happy. He had not felt like this for a long time. He touched the pillow with a light head. There was his post-graduation summer waiting for him and tomorrow Richard Brook – Jim Moriarty for him – would send him a piece of his handwriting. Sherlock's rational part knew it was completely dull but his heart skipped a bit each time his tongue rolled in his mouth to savour the name: Moriarty.


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning Sherlock woke up earlier than usual. He was too excited for the day ahead to sleep for long. He went to the kitchen to make himself some coffee. He liked staying on his own for a bit in the morning, when John was still reluctant to leave his bed upstairs. Sherlock would have coffee or tea and read morning news. Today he also felt like eating something. He tried to remember what the last thing he ate the day before was and it turned out it was coffee. Not really healthy, John is right. He should make an effort to eat properly.

Sherlock opened the fridge searching for something edible aside from his bean sprouts he would use for his experiments and John would constantly moan about as they filled the fridge with a very questionable smell. Sherlock found some milk for his coffee and a couple of eggs. The moment he broke them in a pan made his mind turn to the other day's encounter with Brook – ok, Moriarty, and his comment about eggs and virility. Sherlock swallowed hard thinking of how utterly sexy Jim looked from a short distance. Could Sherlock be found virile? He doubted this but eggs were any way good for his brain and muscles. Proteins, you know.

It was Saturday and Sherlock had a day off. Before having his eggs and coffee he thought it would be good to read some news so he went out to take his morning newspapers. He took them with a habitual gesture and almost jumped as an envelope fell out of the pile. His heart gave a heavy bit and with his hands shaking he took the white rectangular already knowing what was inside it. He brought it carefully to the kitchen tucking the newspapers under his pit. He needed his best paper knife to open it cutting precisely the line of the bending. What he found inside were two photos of Brook's posing as the medical drama sweetheart. They were signed, one for John and one Sherlock. Love, Richard Brook. Xx. Sherlock took his picture and traced his fingertips over Richard's frame. He already thought where he would place it in his room when he noticed the light print of an additional writing on the reverse side of the picture signed for him. He turned it only to find a phone number written. Presumably Brook's – stop it – Moriarty's number. Sherlock caught himself holding his breath. OH. MY. GOD!

He checked John's card and found no number on the reverse side. Obviously. To say he was satisfied is to say nothing. He wolfed down his eggs and coffee. He suddenly felt very hungry. Oh, wait, am I supposed to call him now?

Sherlock made himself another coffee and sat there smiling blissfully at the number. He needed to tell John everything immediately!

Mercifully John came in with a mad bedhead probably woken up by the smell of coffee. He greeted Sherlock with a sleepy "Morning" and poured himself a cup with one eye still shut. Sherlock tried to make a straight face but miserably failed as John immediately noticed his beaming and lifted his eyebrow questioningly at Sherlock. Sherlock reached out holding his picture reversed. Upon seeing the phone number Watson choked on his coffee and apparently burnt his tongue.

"Oh, c'mon! " Sherlock handed John his autograph picture and made a small dance around his chair. John could not believe his eyes. He himself was too happy holding the picture signed for him. The shamelessly attractive actor was looking at him and even the picture could not hide the dark sparkles dancing in his gaze.

"Okay, Sherlock, you have waited for long but see whom you got at the end!"

Sherlock was looking at him with big eyes.

"What am I to do now?" he almost whispered looking very fragile.

"CALL HIM!" Watson shouted. "WHAT ELSE?"

"When?" Sherlock's voice trembled a bit.

"RIGHT. NOW". John was clearly chuffed for his friend but also annoyed by his slow thinking. Oh, innocence.

Sherlock stopped frozen by his own indecisiveness.

"What am I supposed to tell him?" Watson could not help chuckling at Sherlock's utter terror.

John shrugged his shoulders.

"How about "Thank you, it's too kind of you, can I ask you out?""

The terror on Sherlock's face intensified and John got it Sherlock did not realize he was just kidding.

"It's a joke."

Sherlock exhaled relieved.

"Even if he is clearly interested, otherwise why would he have sent you his number?"

Sherlock felt his head was spinning a bit. Exactly, why?

He nodded with difficulty and went to the sitting room to pick up his phone. His fingers were shaky as he was dialing the number. Just breathe, Sherlock. Don't let him know you're a mess right now.

As he was waiting for Jim to reply the sounds of dial tones stressed him a lot. Seeing him all too tense John started making stupid cheerleading gestures from the kitchen chanting silently "Go, Sherlock!". Not that it helped Sherlock relax. He was almost tempted to hang up when Moriarty's lilt filled his ear.

"Hello?"

Words died in Sherlock's throat.

"Hello? Who's this?" Moriarty was losing his patience. Somehow that was what excited Sherlock the most about this man: the demanding nature of his whole attitude.

"Mr. Brook… hi. This is Sherlock. Thank you for the autograph. You are far too kind." Sherlock was conscious about calling him Brook as he did not want to betray their secret.

He heard Moriarty chuckling at the other end of the phone.

"My pleasure. And call me Jim."

"You gave me your number too."

"I did." Moriarty's voice was too calm for Sherlock's stirred state of mind. Now what? John froze on his chair waiting for him to act.

"Why?" John facepalmed groaning audibly.

Moriarty did not try to hide his sarcastic chuckling.

"I thought you might call."

Sherlock clutched the phone harder. Thinking that Jim could be waiting for his call felt like falling down. He did not know what to say except for "Of course I would have called!". Sherlock's heart was beating so hard that he feared Jim could hear it.

Moriarty sensed his agitation and decided to help.

"Do you fancy coming over to the set tonight?" Sherlock momentarily went deaf. Set? Tonight? Like, for real?

He produced some approving mumbling.

"We need a Chemistry consultant, I thought you could help."

Sherlock swallowed hard. Did he mention his Chemistry studies yesterday? He doubted that.

"How did you?…"

Jim chuckled louder.

"Well, elementary. I saw your Chemistry book under the counter. Thought you were passionate about that. Aren't you?"

Sherlock nodded as if Jim could see him. That voice entered his very brain making it explode. Tonight he will see him! Is it a date?

"So, see you at 5. Okay? Bring your friend too. I'll send you the address." Oh, John is invited too? So it's not a date, is it?

"Okay." Sherlock could not really bring himself to say anything more articulate.

"Ciaoooo." Jim's tone told him everything: he has read him as an open book. Poor fan boy. How far was that image from the one Sherlock dreamt of creating?

Jim hung up and Sherlock found enough force to return to the kitchen and announce the fantastic news to John.

"Hurray!" John jumped around the table like a little girl. "They could have called me as a medical expert though. So we're coming. We will see all those actresses. Oh, Gosh, I need a shower, I need to iron my shirt and clean my shoes."

"John, it's 9 in the morning. We still have plenty of time."

But John was already heading to the bathroom too excited to listen to Sherlock. Only now Sherlock realized he was so confused about how he would act now. At least John was confident because well, he had had girls before but Sherlock had never really dated anyone and he did not know what to do to keep Jim's focus on himself. He only knew he wanted to do this more than anything else.

He tried to fill the remaining hours keeping himself occupied with reading but his thoughts would return to Jim's face and he would reread the message with the filming location address. Finally it was time to get prepared and Sherlock could not think of anything better than just being himself. John was far too excited and could not stop chatting on the Tube.

Finally they got to the studio in West London and from the moment they entered Sherlock could only concentrate on trying to spot Jim's face in the crowded room. He was asked to wait to be called when he were to give his comments on some lab tests while John was just popping his eyes around clearly not believing his luck being around all those pretty actresses.

Later Sherlock was brought to a room with monitors and assistants in it and had to give some answers on chemical reactions. Pretty usual stuff but Sherlock was proud of himself and a bit vain seeing those people taking notes of his words. Thank you, Mr. Sherlock, that was very helpful. Leave your bank account details to get the payment. Sherlock thought he could have done it for free if that was Jim to ask him but he was nowhere to be seen. Sherlock did not want to bother him with a call but instead sent him a text: "I am here. SH" but got no reply though. Jim must have been working.

Sherlock needed a coffee and he went searching for one. He found a coffee machine and was ready to get himself some lousy espresso when he unmistakably recognized Jim's unforgettable voice.

"You're driving me crazy, you should not come over when I'm at work." The response was female giggling all pleased with herself.

Holding his breath Sherlock peeped from behind the corner searching for the source of the conversation.

What he saw made his heart sink. Richard – Jim was pushing a very sexy brunette against the wall of the corridor clearly intended to kiss her to death or so. In her turn she was pulling him closer by the lapels of his doctor's overall. Sherlock felt like the air had been sucked out of his chest when Jim finally leaned down to lock lips with her. The kiss was endless and Sherlock never felt more miserable.

Of course, Brook had someone. He was not gay. He had called Sherlock only to get his scientific advice. Of course. Obviously.

"And… cut!" the director's voice somewhere from behind the opening of another door.

Sherlock's lungs opened again and his mouth stretched into an idiotic smile he could do nothing about.

Brook finally separated himself from the actress and a hairdresser stepped in to readjust her raven hair. She must have noticed Sherlock as she winked at him. The director called Jim who disappeared in the adjacent room where they were filming from. Sherlock did not have enough courage to follow him.

"Irene Adler is so hot!" John who turned out from nowhere was now standing behind Sherlock's back whewed in his ear. John would always make comments about good-looking girls to Sherlock ignoring the fact he did not care. "She's a rich patient and she's having an affair with Brook's character. It is against the rules but she is so hot he can't stop himself. They say some steamy sex scenes are on the way." John was clearly looking forward to seeing the actress in something more revealing than the dress she was wearing. Or with nothing on at all. This must mean Brook is going to be at least half-undressed too. Sherlock could not cope with those thoughts without a coffee. Meanwhile John headed down the corridor to talk to the nice hairdresser who had put Irene's hair back in place a minute before. Sherlock turned back to the coffee machine. Okay, a coffee and then he goes home. Clearly Jim does not have time for him. Maybe another day, maybe in another life…

As Sherlock was ready to push the button on the coffee machine a shadow covered its shiny surface and he saw the reflection of Jim's showstopping face on it. He propped himself up with one hand against the machine so that his whole body was hanging over Sherlock's and his chest almost touched Sherlock's back. It took Sherlock's breath away. He would give anything right now to be with Jim in some dark room standing like that. To feel his breath on the back of his neck as he moves his face up making his mouth glide along Sherlock's skin to plant a kiss on his hair…

"Don't drink this, we are actors, not real doctors, we would not be able to save your life. Let's go grab some normal coffee. I've finished." Jim's voice on his ear made his knees shake. Jim distanced himself letting Sherlock turn and see him already wearing his jacket. The overall had been gone. He put on his stylish shades and led the way for Sherlock followed him like a wooden Pinocchio. Jim brought him outside and then to a nice coffee shop. Without asking anything he ordered Sherlock a cappuccino and a slice of cake while taking a tea for himself. They sat down and Sherlock finally brought himself to look in Jim's eyes after the man had taken off his nice sunglasses. He felt those eyes were two whirlpools sucking him in and God was he ready to drown.

Jim pushed the plate with the cake towards Sherlock and commanded "Eat." Sherlock swallowed hard and tried to protest. Actually he had skipped the lunch and now it was almost dinner time. Sherlock took a bite and felt the saliva coming to his mouth. Was it the cake or Jim's presence which made him so hungry?

"So, I was told you have been very useful today. You ace Chemistry." Jim was sipping his tea studying Sherlock's features: very nice cheekbones, peculiar eyes, lovely lips, fragile and impetuous at the same time. Sherlock looked at Jim's hands. No rings, to watches, no bracelets, closely clipped nails and soft fingers with pronounced joints, ready to grab things. He wondered whether Jim wanted to take his hand.

"Uhm.. yes. Thank you." Sherlock was almost finishing the cake but he could hardly feel its taste absorbed in his thoughts.

"So you like Chemistry. Want to continue?"

Sherlock shrugged his shoulders.

"I am not sure really. Probably."

"Is there any other thing you like?" Jim was playing with the tea bag and it distracted Sherlock from his musings.

"Well, actually yes. There is." Sherlock felt reluctant to talk about this but somehow he knew Jim would make him to.

"Tell me." Jim's voice entered his very inside and Sherlock knew all of his barriers had just collapsed.

"I like detective stories."

"Want to be a writer?" Jim looked very interested. And Sherlock was sorry to disappoint him. Okay, the thing he was about to say would certainly make Jim laugh.

"Actually, a private detective." Sherlock exhaled and took a big gulp of coffee to moisture his dry throat.

The change of Jim's expression was immediate. His eyes went very dark, his whole face grew sharper and there was something menacing in his gaze which made Sherlock's stomach clench. He must have disappointed him more than he thought he would have.

When Jim spoke his voice dropped and Sherlock felt the whole conversation was ruined.

"I'm not the man for you, Sherlock. You should stay away from me. "

With these words Jim stood up and stormed out of the shop leaving Sherlock sitting there shattered and close to tears.

John would call this the shortest love story the world has ever known.


	3. Chapter 3

"Sherlock, really you have to leave this bed and get dressed". John was standing in the doorway watching his friend's frame completely covered with a bed sheet.

"You have not eaten anything today. And you should. Because drinking with an empty stomach is a synonym of intoxication. C'mon, up." He pulled the cloth and it earned him an aggressive grumpy kick from Sherlock's long legs. John was not going to surrender though, and finally he managed to uncover Sherlock who was lying there still and very grumpy. "Hurry up. We are gonna be late for the party." John was about to lose his patience. He had no intention of missing all the fun because of Sherlock's bad temper. Lying like that and refusing to talk in these last days after the rejection from Brook was really too much. At least Sherlock still kept going to work but John suspected that was only because he desperately needed money and was not going to ask his parents to give him some more.

"Okay, what are you going to wear?" John opened Sherlock's wardrobe scrutinizing it critically. Not exactly full of party appropriate clothes. Sherlock covered his head with a pillow protesting against the perspective of having to get out of his bed and change his clothes. "This, wear this purple shirt, looks good on you." Sherlock made a slightest movement and John knew that was a good sign.

"Okay, 20 minutes and I'm leaving." John was pretty sure Sherlock would have followed him because there was one thing about Sherlock's bad mood: he could only keep it in front of John. Staying depressed and alone was too much for him.

Actually John was right in his prognosis. In a quarter of an hour Sherlock was standing in front of the mirror in the sitting room adjusting his shirt. A very nice purple one which made his icy eyes look beautifully alien. John thought what he would have done to girls if only he looked the way Sherlock did. But that's not about the face, right, it's about the sense of humour and confidence.

"Okay, Sherlock, good boy. Let's go and shake off the heartbreak." John knew there was no better cure for a broken heart than a glass of something stronger than coffee and a company of friends.

As soon as they were ready to go off the doorbell rang.

"Since when do cab drivers ring the door?" Sherlock was all indignant.

He was not actually too enthusiastic about the upcoming party but he could do nothing about it. John wanted to go and he did not want to stay without John all night, all miserable and fighting the impulse to go check Jim's signed picture in his drawer. Since that awkward conversation there had been no calls, no texts, no good-looking visitors during his working hours. He would go out for a walk or a cigarette when John would turn on the tv to watch Emergency. Thankfully, Watson never referred to him the events of episodes clearly knowing he would pretend he did not care but would be deeply hurt. John was well past these so-10-year-old heartbreaks but not that he did not remember how it felt. He would always laugh at Sherlock but he knew there was an area he would never intrude into: Sherlock's sentimental life.

His thoughts were stopped by John's return. Sherlock did not like the expression of his face right out. He was holding a thick parcel so it had not been a cabbie but a courier.

"This is for you."

Sherlock took the parcel trying to keep his calm. Could be anything from anybody. He ripped the yellowish paper with unsteady hands and took off a book. Poirot by Agatha Christie, an old edition, smells of wooden dust and exquisite perfume. Sherlock opened the cover, signed by Christie herself.

"A vintage copy", Sherlock exhaled crossing eyes with John who had very small notion of valuable books but understood that was something special.

Sherlock turned pages and a note fell from between the second and the third page. John picked it up promptly.

"For a brilliant future ahead." He read out. "No signature though." They crossed eyes again not needing words, as it was pretty clear who the sender was.

Sherlock got so angry he would have tossed the book in the trash bin if it was not so precious.

"How dares he?!" The acute pain in his chest he has been trying to muffle for the past few days came back in a second. It was hard enough to throw away Jim's picture let alone a rare book with Christie's autograph. How did he know Sherlock used to read and reread these stories over and over again?

John shook his head. Okay, this is too much for his tender Sherlock.

"Let's go, just leave it here, the cab must be coming." He pulled Sherlock's sleeve. "C'mon, Sherlock."

Sherlock let the book go with a sigh. What was Jim trying to tell him? Sorry for having been such a weird person? Sorry for making your heart beat so hard, sorry for flirting, sorry for being so sexy on the phone, sorry for standing too close, sorry for asking you about your dreams, sorry for having entered your life? An encouragement to a graduate? Go on, become what you want, never ever think of me again, I'm not the man for you, Sherlock.

Sherlock only woke up from his gloomy musings when they entered the bar where the party was about to start. The music was annoyingly pop and someone put an academic cap on his head. Molly waved at them from the opposite corner of the room where she was talking to a DJ. John was scanning the crowd looking for girls he would hit on tonight. Someone patted him on the shoulder making him turn around. Lestrade.

"Let's get wasted!" he shouted half because of the music was too loud, half because he was overexcited.

And wasted they got.

After some drinks Sherlock could not really stand up straight. He needed to go to the loo and got even more desperate when he saw the queue for it. It made him feel so miserable and wrong. Look at him, a poor graduate getting pissed with his friends still heartbroken over a famous actor who gave him a hint of hope and an expensive book. He must have thousands of guys like Sherlock and enough money to send them all goodbye gifts. How very cute. Sherlock felt he needed to tell Jim all this in his face but as soon as he was not anywhere around the only option was to call him which Sherlock immediately did. He dialed his number which he still had not deleted and was glad Jim replied right after the first dial tone as Sherlock was not going to waste any more of his time on this peacock.

"Hi, Sherlock." Jim's voice was softer than usual and more inebriating than alcohol but Sherlock was not going to surrender to it. Not again.

"Oh, you think you're so big and famous you can play with people like that," he shouted feeling his tongue in his mouth thick and heavy, moving reluctantly, "you think you can come into someone's life, send them books and just pretend it means nothing." Jim was silent on the other end of the phone. Sherlock checked whether the conversation was still on. "But I tell you, people have hearts and feelings and some things are for real, not everything in life is fiction." Jim made a very long sigh.

"Sherlock, you're drunk. Where are you? I'm coming to get you."

"I am not going to tell you where I am. Don't look for me. Don't come over. Don't call me. Never again!" And Sherlock hung up. The moment he did he felt like he had taken his revenge on this Moriarty. Who does he think he is? But after going to the loo and feeling a bit more sober he regretted this phone call. He could have ignored it. Pretend he had not got the book or that it meant nothing to him. That would have left Jim questioning. But now he destroyed everything with his own hands and also admitted that Jim had hurt him.

Sherlock felt the urge to get out of this place. He needed to go outside, get a cab and come back home to get some sleep. Tomorrow he would destroy the picture and the book and would be back to normality. His heart should never rule his head. Enough.

When he was making his way through the crowd he saw Molly running behind him calling his name.

"Already leaving, Sherlock?" She felt really upset. Sherlock saw Lestrade left at the bar counter watching the entire scene and getting really gloomy.

"Yes, I better go sleep." Sherlock felt his whole world started shaking slowly to the rhythm of the music. He felt he needed to tell Molly.

"Greg likes you. Treat him right. Please, for me." And he left confused Molly in the middle of the crowd.

Outside he breathed in summer air and saw the first stars appearing in the dark blue sky. The beauty around him made him feel even worse. Nobody should be alone and sad on a night like this.

He caught a cab quickly. Getting inside calmed him down. Sherlock sat back on the comfortable seat. He thought he should turn off his phone to avoid new calls from Moriarty. He still was very much drunk and when his and the driver's eyes crossed in the mirror he thought for a second that was Jim. The second after the driver turned to him and Sherlock clearly saw the craved face under a ridiculous cap. So that was Jim's secret. He's a cabbie. Sherlock started laughing a bit nervous. Trapped in a car with Mr. Push-and-Drag.

"I'll drive you home." Jim smiled reassuringly and Sherlock felt he did not want to make answers anymore.

He woke up the day after in a bed which was definitely not his. A very nice bed with crispy sheets standing in a stylish modern room with the blinds up just a bit to make the first rays of light come into the house. Sherlock was only wearing his underwear and his clothes were put in a neat pile on the armchair next to the bed.

The door opened making him sit up and Jim waltzed in bringing a tray with coffee and toasts with jam and butter. He was wearing skinny blue jeans and a white shirt which was pretty see-through. His hair was slicked back and he had no shoes on. Moving gracefully he approached Sherlock stopping right in front of him. So that Sherlock's face was right before his chest. Sherlock felt his body so close that he wanted to lick his lips to moisture them.

"Your breakfast".

The grace and the easiness Jim sat on the edge of the bed next to him cut his breath. He already saw him falling down back on the pillows under Moriarty's weight.

"Eat. Please." Jim made a sign with his eyebrows urging Sherlock to take something from the tray. Sherlock was thankful for the meal. He nodded shyly.

He wanted to ask so much. Who did undress him? Obviously, Jim. Did he sleep with him? Sherlock examined the space beside him on the bed.

Jim got the direction of his gaze and shook his head.

"No, I slept in another room."

Sherlock exhaled. Did they have sex? Before Jim went to another bed maybe. He did not feel anything unusual in his body but then he did not know how the aftersex felt like.

"Have we…" Sherlock found enough courage to open his mouth. "Done… anything?"

Jim chuckled softly.

"Don't you remember?"

Sherlock shook his head fearing the potential "yes". He fidgeted checking any new sensation in his lower body. None.

Jim leaned in abruptly getting very close to his ear.

"Did you think I would have taken you sleeping?" His hot breath put all Sherlock's skin on fire. The very thought of Jim sliding smoothly into him almost made him hard on the spot. He was thankful for the bed sheet covering his lap.

Jim waited drinking into Sherlock's embarrassment almost sensing his arousal.

"I'd like to wash your hair." He shifted closer and passed his hand over Sherlock's scalp. The touch of his fingers, soft but firm at the same time sent shivers down Sherlock's spine as he imagined what it would be like to take a shower with Jim and let him massage his head while kissing him. His face must have told everything as Jim pulled his hair to make Sherlock lean closer.

"I would like this too." Sherlock whispered ready for a kiss. Now Jim, do this.

"Not yet." Moriarty let his hair go and stood up. Sherlock could not hide his dismay and Jim chuckled satisfied. He clearly loved toying with Sherlock and it was just a matter of time he would finally grab and eat him.

"You should know, Sherlock, I have secrets." Sherlock felt the hairs on the back of his neck stood up and a piece of toast almost blocked his throat. Jim's eyes went darker and shinier than usual, like black caviar his brother Mycroft once treated him to in a fancy restaurant in the City. "I have a secret room. You should see that before we do anything." Sherlock swallowed. A secret room? Do what? Have… sex?

"I am ready." Sherlock whispered moving his dry lips. He felt ready for everything just to stay in the radius of the heat Jim's body exuded.

Jim stared at him for a good minute examining him. Will he be strong enough to endure the truth? Does he really need to know? Will he be able to handle seeing the things Jim had in this room?

"Tonight." Jim finally replied placing a hand over Sherlock's bare shoulder and squeezing it for a moment. "Your shift at Speedy's is starting in 43 minutes and you still have to shower and then I will drive you there."

Sherlock's mouth opened questioningly to ask how Jim would know that but then he thought he might have said it yesterday when he was so drunk he could have traded off his country for a drink.

So he just nodded and swallowed. Showering at Jim's was not what he was planning but he definitely would not miss the chance.

Standing under the hot water 5 minutes later he felt all his muscles soothe and his mind clarifying. Parties are not good for him. Hangover is not worth it. Is staying in Jim's company good for him? While he washed himself in Jim's bathroom, neat and stylish as the room he had slept in, the touch of his own hands on his body was more conscious. He soaped his stomach and moved down passing over dark hair to slip lower long his half-hard cock. How wrong would it be touching himself right now? What if Jim entered? Would he open the shower cabin, slam Sherlock against the wet tiles and jerk him off? Would he make him kneel to make him swallow his already very hard shaft? Would he come in his face? Was it that porn which Sherlock used to watch with Watson from time to time left such an impact on his virgin brain?

"Hurry up, or you are going to be late!" Jim's voice from behind the door brought him back to the reality. Right. He still has a job. Not the job he has been thinking about though.

He got dressed quickly and came back to the bedroom with his hair still wet. Thankfully, summer made it possible to let them just dry in the air. Sitting next to Jim in his cab he inhaled the morning smell of London. He loved the city, its buzz, the colours. And that was his first drive home after a night out of his bed. Nothing happened between them yet, nothing to talk about, but Sherlock knew it was a special something, something he would not be able nor want to talk to anyone. Jim was silent and smiled furtively at his reflection in the mirror. With his cabbie cap Jim looked a bit goofy but still immensely attractive. Sherlock thought he might need to find a special hat for himself too.

When the cab stopped in front of Speedy's, Sherlock waited for a moment before getting out. He waited for something from Jim to confirm it was all for real and that he would not run away like he had done before.

Jim got it and stretched out his hand waiting for Sherlock to take it. He slowly did, squeezing Moriarty's hot palm and they shook hands. That would have been too formal for someone else but for the two of them it felt just right.

"I will pick you up tonight."

Watching Jim driving off Sherlock thought that his heart had sunk and risen up again too many times in these past few days but maybe he was getting used to this rollercoaster. Maybe that was exactly what he had been waiting for all his life.


	4. Chapter 4

Sherlock could hardly wait for the end of his shift. As soon as it was over he rushed home to shower and change into fresh clothes. But before he needed to check on Watson. He had not heard from him since the other night and had no missed calls or unread texts.

He knocked on John's bedroom door and heard a weak "Come in" from behind it. John was lying in his bed visibly destroyed by the hard partying. Sherlock thought as soon as Watson did not get alarmed by Sherlock's absence this meant he came back home when Sherlock was already at Speedy's. John knew about the shift and did not search for Sherlock.

"We went to Molly's after the party. Me, Greg and a girl I had picked up. The girl then did not feel well and left and we continued drinking. I think Greg took a sleep over after." John was covering his eyes with his palm, his skin was greyish. Sherlock shook his head and looked for Alka-Seltzer in John's drawers and went to get his some water. John accepted all with a thankful moan.

"Okay, you sleep now." Sherlock felt good taking care of John because usually it was the other way round and he felt grateful for being able to do something for his patient friend. He was even more grateful for John not asking questions and not wanting to know where Sherlock was heading for tonight. God bless hangover.

He showered quickly and put on a fresh crisp white shirt and navy trousers. He liked his reflection in the mirror, he looked radiant, full of energy.

Jim did notice that too as soon as Sherlock got into the cab waiting for him outside at the set hour. He stared at Sherlock intensely with hunger. Sherlock felt proud of being capable to evoke desire in Jim and he was flattered Jim was not trying to hide it.

"Ready for a ride?" and without waiting for the answer he drove off. The soon left London and headed to the countryside. Sherlock was happy he could see the road as the day before it was too dark and he was too drunk to notice anything but Jim around him. It took them about 40 minutes to get to Jim's house, a two-storage building with a neat lawn and a backyard which was not seen from the road thought due to a tall metal fence. Sherlock had only seen the ground floor with the bedroom he had slept in and a bathroom. He presumed there was another room and a kitchen where Jim had made him breakfast. But tonight he was to see the secret room and Sherlock was pretty sure it was upstairs.

Jim stopped the engine and they got out of the car. The moment the electric gate closed behind them was the point of non-return for Sherlock. He looked at the blood red sunset and knew he was about to cross the line. Whatever it might be.

Jim took his hand and led him to the house. They had not exchanged a word since their departure from Baker St. but Sherlock felt they got each other perfectly. Jim was discreet enough to let him have time to get mentally prepared. Following him into the house Sherlock could not take his eyes off his back under a light linen shirt and his arse in tight jeans. He was moving as if an inner spring was compressed and released again. The warm wind in Sherlock's hair and an airplane in the sky over his head made him feel so young.

Jim opened the front door and Sherlock stepped into a light corridor which Sherlock remembered from the day before. Though Jim led him upstairs this time. The first floor was dimmed and Sherlock saw two doors, both locked. Before opening the one what was at the end of corridor Jim turned to him silently asking him whether he was ready.

Sherlock clenched his hand tighter, nodded and stepped over the threshold following Moriarty.

What he saw inside was none of what he could have imagined. A huge empty room with a thousand of screens on the front wall and a throne-looking chair in front of it. Thousands of people were moving on these screens and the picture changed often jumping to different locations and faces. Some of them were CCTV footages, others looked like private cameras in offices and residences. Jim waited for his reaction standing at the still open door. Not being stopped Sherlock took a step closer and was able to examine a desk below the screens which looked like an elaborate control panel. There were buttons and more buttons and a keyboard and another smaller one, a phone, several mobiles, a fax and a microphone.

Sherlock watched silent figures on the screen walking, sitting, talking, some footages were from busy streets, some from empty rooms, some from the Tube.

"This is my office." The voice behind his back was very calm but Sherlock knew Jim was tense and waiting for his reaction.

"I suppose this not for your acting or driving a cab." Sherlock felt fascinated by the technology and he was now sure Jim was very good at using it. He felt curious and perplexed at the same time. Jim hardly was a guard so there was some other, less normal explanation to it.

"What do you use all these cameras for?" He finally turned to stand face to face with Jim.

"My work." Jim put his hands in his pockets and stood in front of Sherlock pretty relaxed now and very self-assured.

"Which is?" Sherlock tried to make his voice sound still but his heart which stopped beating harder made his breath shallow.

"Learning people's pressure points." Jim's eyes reflected the light of the monitors but Sherlock knew this was only the surface and he was not yet allowed to look deeper.

"And using them then?" Sherlock whispered fearing the answer.

Jim chuckled pleased with his quick understanding.

"Quite so."

"You are a criminal."

As soon as Sherlock pronounced those words he knew that was the moment he was preparing himself for. This is the truth and it needed no confirmation because Jim was not going to deny it. Sherlock locked his hands behind his back trying to control his body, the reactions, his blood flow.

"I can enter any video surveillance circuit, open any door without touching it, make people do what I need them to do."

"How?" Sherlock was caught by a bitter understanding that he was more curious to know than shocked to have learnt. Has he ever suspected something similar about Jim?

Jim stepped closer taking his hands out of the pockets. The moment of Sherlock's hesitation was overcome. The reaction he was counting on had been achieved. Curiosity. He could not be the only man in London who was bored. Stopping in front of Sherlock he placed his palm on Sherlock's cheek.

"I have developed a special code, it's a 1," he traced his thumb long Sherlock's cheekbone and Sherlock felt his chest became too tight to contain his heart, "and a 0", Jim's thumb moved lower to Sherlock's mouth and pulled his lower lip down. Sherlock did not blink as he could not stop staring at Jim's eyes who was now standing almost pressed to him with his eyelids half closed.

"I would like you to become my counterpart." Jim's hand moved down along Sherlock's chin and neck. When Jim's fingers squeezed his neck lightly Sherlock could not help but bring his hands up to cup Jim's hand and to beg him stop and continue at the same time. He feared for a second he might strangle him after having shown and told him all these things but the way Jim's thumb pressed against his carotid made him feel dizzy and aroused at the same time. A pang of acute desire filled his groin and he wanted to grind himself against Jim who apparently was getting hard too.

Moriarty brought his mouth so very close to Sherlock's ear that he could feel its wetness on his shell.

"I commit crimes and you solve them. We make a deal. You tell no one about this. You know what I have done but need to prove it. I leave no traces but I leave hints. For you. Catch me if you can. Would you?"

Sherlock felt like he was being sucked in a whirlwind. His brain exploded. Solve crimes? Play against an apparently very cunning criminal? A very sexy criminal to make it harder. Oh God, he doubted he had ever been harder than that moment. And they had not even kissed.

With an abrupt movement Jim made him turn around to look at the screen. He leaned his whole body against Sherlock's and the tip of his pulsing erection was pushing against Sherlock's right buttock. That insistent pressure made every thought in his head vanish and the only thing he could concentrate on now was his own almost leaking cock. Jim's hands came to untuck his shirt, sliding under it. His febrile whisper on Sherlock's neck interchanged with small kisses and bites made Sherlock perk his behind manically only to get closer to Jim's hips.

"You see that man," Jim stretched out his left hand indicating a camera in the upper corner. The man was sitting in his office reading emails it seemed. At some point his face went white and he made an awkward movement with his left hand making his cup fall down and splash coffee all over his pristine carpet.

"This is an MP who has just been blackmailed." Jim's hands were rambling over Sherlock's chest and the touch of Jim's fingers against his nipples made him moan lightly. He was afraid of coming right now. So he tried to concentrate on the footage.

"Would you like to help him? Help him save his reputation? Maybe get money for saving it?" Jim's palms slid along Sherlock's trim stomach to get to the button of his trousers. Jim was grinding himself against Sherlock's arse and that rhythm sent Sherlock's head spinning.

But he had to focus. That was not only about sex. That was much more than sex and much more dangerous than that.

"I need to read the contract first," Sherlock finally found an answer. Jim stopped for a second calculating whether it was the outcome he was hoping for.

"I'll take it as a yes," he murmured cupping Sherlock's erection through his trousers and stroking him.

Sherlock left his last attempts to resist and let shaky moans out of his chest searching for Jim's hips behind his back. Encouraged by the physical response Jim started moving his hand faster.

"Tell me what you like." He was breathing hard against Sherlock's neck.

Sherlock did not know what to say and he blurted out the most improbable response of all.

"Chess."

Jim froze for a second as if processing what he had just heard and then giggled.

"I mean in bed. Sex. What do you like?" His fingers were running slowly over the head of Sherlock's cock making it cling to the underwear.

"I… I don't… know." Sherlock finally choked out.

"You mean… err." Jim stopped stroking him and distanced himself gripping Sherlock's shoulders and making him turn to face Jim. Sherlock looked into Moriarty's face which was the exact reflection of his: eyes flashing, lips red, feverish blush on the cheeks, rampant desire tensing up every muscle.

"You're a virgin." Jim stated staring at Sherlock somewhat surprised.

Sherlock could not bear the idea it could have turned Jim off. He could have pretended he was not, maybe learning the things as they went but in that state he just was not able to tell lies.

But now standing in front of Jim Sherlock felt it was his chance to move, to get what he wanted.

"Dear Jim, will you fix it for me?" he whispered bringing up his hand to caress Jim's jaw.

Moriarty did not reply but put his hands on Sherlock's hips and kissed him slowly. First a brush of open lips, then a touch of tongues, a deeper touch, pulling Sherlock's lips with his teeth, passing over his chin, coming back to suck his tongue. Sherlock could not help but close his eyes because the pleasure was so intense. Jim tasted so good and his kiss turned Sherlock further on and he felt his body was becoming so obedient to Jim's touch.

"Let's go."

They went down the stairs holding hands as before, leaving Jim's office behind. The pulsing heat over the whole Sherlock's body made everything else seem irrelevant for this night. There will be time to think about it.

They entered the bedroom where Sherlock had slept only it was dark now. Particles of light dust danced in the bleak moonlight entering through the almost shut window blinds and in this light Jim's hands moved slowly to hold Sherlock, open his trousers, open his shirt letting Sherlock mirror his actions. They took off their shoes and let the clothes fall on the floor. When Jim's fingers gripped Sherlock's hips and then the elastic of his pants to lower them down Sherlock's nipples stood up hard and the thick waves of anticipation and arousal washed over his back and groin. Jim had no underwear under his jeans and when it fell to his feet Sherlock saw a long hard perfect cock surrounded by dark trimmed hair. He wanted to touch it, hold it in his hand, fascinated by it but Jim pushed him down softly straddling him and ducking down to take him in his mouth. Electric shiver ran down Sherlock's legs and he pushed his hips up to meet the movement of Jim's tongue. Sherlock had to close his eyes and grip the bedsheet to endure the insistent pushes of pleasures up his cock.

Sherlock was already thinking he would come when Jim stopped and left Sherlock's wet and hot skin. Sherlock gave a disappointed "oh" because it had felt so good. But then a light touch of Jim's lubed fingers at his entrance made him forget every notion of pleasure he had had before.

Jim was towering over him standing on his knees putting on a condom. Sherlock loved how his fingers moved along his length and the sound of the elastic ring of the condom when it fell in place. Jim bent down to give Sherlock a tender kiss on the lips and then hooked his hands under Sherlock's knees putting Sherlock's legs on his shoulders bringing him closer. Sherlock took a big gulp of air and felt he was having goosebumps. When the tip of Jim's cock pressed against his entrance he closed his eyes and held his breath clenching Jim's forearms.

"Sherlock", Jim called softly, "open your eyes and breathe with me." Sherlock nodded and then did as he was told. He saw Jim's face that was ever more beautiful in this twilight, his collarbones, his tight stomach, his gorgeous cock aimed between Sherlock's buttocks. Jim nodded slightly and whispered, "Exhale". As Sherlock let out a shaky breath Jim entered just an inch. Sherlock's first reaction was to push him away instinctively but actually he felt no pain but just a bit of stretch and warm crawling up his thighs. "Inhale," Jim commanded keeping still. Sherlock inhaled and oxygen relaxed him. Exhale, inhale, push, stop, exhale, inhale, push, stop. They felt into the rhythm and as Jim was getting deeper into him Sherlock was learning to control his body. He lost it when the thickest part of Jim's cock got inside and a thought of escape crossed Sherlock's mind and he squeezed his eyes. Jim stopped immediately and pressed his forehead against Sherlock's waiting for him. When Sherlock opened his eyes Jim lowered his body on Sherlock's completely and kissed him long and thorough and stayed like this letting Sherlock hold him. He was patient to push his whole length in gradually and Sherlock could not be more thankful. He felt Jim so unbearably close torn between the protest of his body against being taken and the anticipation of frictions.

When Jim started moving after being given a small nod of approval Sherlock felt his whole body was freezing and burning at the same time. He was tantalized by the movements of Jim's hips and his hard breath, his mouth stretching as he got deeper and pleasure came over him. Sherlock's cock went heavy as lead and throbbing. The way Jim's cock brushed his inside made him feel like screaming. When his rhythm intensified and the slapping of their bodies against each other grew uncontrollable Sherlock squeezed the sheets and clenched his teeth watching Jim going through last desperate moves before a glorious release. At the peak of it his body got all frenzy and Sherlock felt vibrations spreading through his flesh. Jim pushed inside Sherlock more and more but the pressure was gone. Finally he lowered himself upon Sherlock, putting his legs down. Sherlock's knees were trembling as he pushed his feet into the bed and he could not keep them up so he just spread them. Jim's sweaty forehead was touching his and Jim's hands caressed his chest and hips in a random manner while his mouth whispered sweet dirty nonsense in his ear.

"Such an epic fuck you are."

Chafing his head on Sherlock's cheek like a big satiated cat Moriarty went to touch Sherlock's cock which was still hard and ached at the touch and he hissed at Jim's stroke. No release made him feel like he was having a fever and was going to pass out.

"Hold on." Jim planted a light kiss on his ear and went down tracing his open mouth along Sherlock's neck, chest, stomach, only to gulp down his a bit disregarded length. The way he made his mouth move up and down, sucking and licking sent white circles in front of Sherlock's eyes and he remembered nothing but this hot wet tight pumping and the sensation of pushing against Jim's throat as he was spilling himself a couple of minutes later with green stars exploding in his head and him moaning something inarticulate. Jim gave the last soothing licks to his emptied cock and went to lie down next to him stripping off his condom.

Sherlock's body was almost floating over the bed and the only thought in his head as he was falling asleep tangled between Jim's hands and bed cloth was how touchable Jim's skin was.

He woke up right before the dawn to find Jim sitting up against the headboard. The first moments Sherlock thought he was awake too as he was tapping his fingers against his thigh murmuring, "Bits like digits, bits like digits…" but then Sherlock saw his eyes were shut and his eye balls were moving hectically under the lids. Sherlock touched Jim's forearm and he spread his eyes open gulping for air as if coming up to the surface from under the water. He gave Sherlock a blank look but the next second his gaze turned normal and he reached out to ruffle Sherlock's hair up.

Sherlock caught his hand and kissed his open palm, gave a small bite to each fingertip, nipped on the skin over his knuckles. Then he shifted closer and moved the sheet aside from Jim's lap. They were still naked from the night before. Sherlock loved sleeping with nothing on. Apparently, Jim did too.

He planted a tentative kiss on Jim's thigh and Moriarty shifted his position a bit to give Sherlock a better access. Sherlock rolled on his stomach and stood on his hands and knees. Moriarty looked appreciatively on the curve of his spine and the rounded butt as he lowered his head to take Jim in his mouth.

He had pretty much no knowledge of what he was doing but sex was instinctive and the memories of what Jim had done to him just some hours prior encouraged him. He grew even more inspired when Jim started moaning softly and brushing his finger through Sherlock's hair. He went up and down enjoying the sensation of Jim's flesh getting harder and hotter at his manipulations. He soon found himself turned on too and all he wanted was to get even closer to Jim. Jim pulled at his shoulders asking him to come up and kiss him. Sherlock straddled over his lap kissing him hungrily, kissing his face, his neck, his hair, rubbing his arse against Jim's hardening cock. Jim got it all right and fished the lube and condoms from the drawer of the night table. He let Sherlock lead him in and rewarded his courage with few strokes on his own stood up shaft. Sherlock felt a bit sore but the fear and the insecurity had vanished and practice was all he needed.

Coming up and down riding Jim, squeezing an orgasm out of him being masturbated simultaneously gave Sherlock the sense of ultimate power he had never experienced before. Coming over Jim's stomach made him tremble and clench Moriarty inside him asking Jim to follow him which he did moments later. Sherlock took his time after still sitting on top of Jim with his forehead pressed against the pillow and his cheek against his lover's cheek.

"What about the contract?" Jim murmured running his fingers down Sherlock's spine counting his vertebrae. Sherlock shivered and sat up to look in Jim's face.

"I need to think." He paused. "Drive me home, please." Jim's hand lingered on his back.

"No breakfast?" Jim pouted his lower lip and Sherlock kissed it.

Sherlock shook his head.

On the way home they were silent as usual. Sherlock liked the fact Jim gave him space and he felt liked he owed him this too. Though upon the arrival Sherlock felt like he was already missing Jim a bit.

"Will I see you tonight?" Sherlock tried not to sound too needy.

"I have to work tonight." Jim turned to look at Sherlock. There was he sitting. Those heavenly eyes, and curls, and a white shirt. Moriarty thought of how this body felt under his touch at night and found himself craving more of it, all of it.

Sherlock wondered what kind of work Jim had to do but did not ask.

"Call me." Jim gave him the last meaningful look and Sherlock got out of the car.

He watched the cab drive away and felt new, different, more alive. Something had changed and would never be the same again.

He found Watson in the kitchen drinking his tea. He lifted a brow at Sherlock's questioningly and Sherlock shrugged his shoulders.

"Anything you need to tell me?" Watson waited with his mug up.

Well, nothing important besides the fact I lost my virginity yesterday. To a famous actor. Which sends my head spinning. Also because he is a high-profile criminal apparently. And wants me to solve the crimes he commits. Just for fun. And wants me to sign a contract to keep my lips sealed. And this does not stop me from wanting him even more. No, nothing really, John.

"Let's go have breakfast."


	5. Chapter 5

Sherlock was thoughtful for the rest of the day. Going out with Watson and staying for a bit outside felt good. He felt very blessed with this small world of his not needing too many people around him.

Only when later in the evening his head touched the pillow he wished he was not alone in his room. He hugged the other pillow squeezing it tight to his body. In the back of his mind he knew it was good for him to have some time away from Jim and process the experience he had had. Sherlock would often catch himself trying to rationalize the sentiment, his own stirred feelings. He usually failed and just shut down this gate but this time he had gone too far and could not deny the fact he was changing.

The next morning was just as quiet as the evening before. Sherlock tried to keep himself occupied to avoid checking his mobile for missed calls or texts. Watson was out for a job interview and Sherlock had the house to himself which meant he could play violin without anyone walking around making suffering grimaces.

When the phone rang and Sherlock saw the name on the screen he was reluctant to answer but then thought it was better dealing it on the spot as the man inevitably coming to visit him later if he kept ignoring his calls.

"Yes, Mycroft." His tone was dry, he could not explain it to himself but the figure of his brother was irritating for no obvious reason. Maybe the jealousy was the only explanation he could find but did not want to.

"Hello to you, Sherlock." His intonation told Sherlock Mycroft had not been sleeping last night.

"I am listening." Sherlock knew the truth was that Mycroft was far busier and far more important than him but he could not help acting as if it was the other way round.

"Have you watched the news?" Mycroft's voice sounded tired and alarmed at the same time. Sherlock had not yet.

"When you watch them, let me know what you think about that offer I made you last month. We might need more people soon."

"I don't think that suits me." Sherlock was annoyed by Mycroft's proposal to join his office as a consultant chemist and maybe in some other quality his brother promised to talk to him about later.

"Think better, Sherlock." Mycroft paused and then hung up.

Sherlock was not sure whether it was a request or a menace.

His thoughts returned to Jim and his offer instead. To solve crimes he commits. Sherlock should have been worried by the fact it did not really bother him to learn Jim was someone very different from a blue screen star only. He could relate to this need to be something out of the box.

He turned on the TV knowing Mycroft would not have bothered calling unless there was something of national importance. The 11 a.m. newscast was about to start and there had to be something extraordinary to expect.

"And we remind you that the Bank of England system was hacked previously in the morning. The police are now searching for the intruder despite the fact nothing had been stolen. The very thought of such a violation possible makes people question the national security as such."

Sherlock's hand clenched the remote. The Bank of England! Who would have hacked its system to steal nothing? Just for the sake for it, just to stop boredom. Sherlock turned the TV off. His stomach gave a painful spasm at the thought of who could have done such a thing.

 _I can enter any video surveillance circuit._

How intimidating it is to have an invisible foe who can rob the whole nation with a few lines of a computer code?

He broke into the Bank of England just the way he broke into Sherlock's mind. Unexpected and unstoppable. Took nothing but left the sense of danger.

The memories of the night with Jim echoed through his body. Was it worth knowing things like those he had learnt in that dark room with so many monitors? Was the game worth the risk? What if Jim killed him at some point? How many attractive men are out there ready to give pleasure but having no criminal intent? How many of them could make him feel like Jim did? How many of them would like to play with him a game of hide and seek?

What if Jim did prepare for the break-in after having driven Sherlock home the other day? What would happen if he told Mycroft he knew who the hacker was and where he lived?

What Sherlock did not ask himself was whether it was acceptable to be attracted and consciously sleeping with someone who certainly did have the power of criminal influence far beyond every idea Sherlock could have of. Jim saw that lack of hesitation in him and that explained his risky offer. He knew Sherlock would not have given him.

But he could not accept his offer either.

He could not. Sherlock felt reassured by thet clarity in his thoughts. Right, that was it. He took his Iphone firmly and found Moriarty's number.

"Dear Jim, that was nice to meet you." And he pressed "Send".

He put down the phone and felt a painful prick behind his lower ribs. He needed to stop it before going too far. He was sure Mycroft would have learnt it all one day but at least he would not have had much to learn as Sherlock intended quitting before the things got really serious.

He needed to find his equilibrium and knew the best cure was his violin. The touch of the friendly wood under his chin, the strings responding to the pressure of his fingers, the bow bringing to life a melody living in his head. Standing like this in front of the window playing a tune which told the story of these last days was his kind of therapy. He had never been in treatment despite being hardly social at school and having almost no friends. Music was his retreat and his secret club. It belonged to him the way he belonged to it and for Sherlock that was the perfect relationship. A relationship so different from the one he had had with Jim. The more he played walking around his living room, the more the thought of letting go was getting him putting his mind to rest.

He closed his eyes and let the music lull him and the way he was holding his violin was similar to the way Jim was holding him the first time: firm, confident, attentive, knowing that patience and steadiness would have eventually brought the desired result. He slowed down his rhythm and it took him back to Jim's movements against his body but the memory somehow was distant now. Sherlock used to think the heartbreak of a platonic love was less of a torture than that one could experience after leaving their lover. Surprisingly enough, that was quite the contrary. The physical knowledge and memory of the body somehow soothed the pain. Life gave him something new in exchange of something lost.

He heard the light steps on the stairs and thinking that was John gave a few last strokes of the bow ready to put his violin down. He turned around to greet John but found someone quite different from his flat mate.

Jim with a ski mask on and a gun in his hand was standing at the door.

"This is armed robbery," Jim drawled and the O in "robbery" spiky like a glass shard cut Sherlock's nerves.

Jim tilted his head slightly to the side and cocked his gun up.

Sherlock froze there with his violin in hand not knowing what to do. He felt relieved and stressed seeing his lover again. He did not feel prepared for this but he could not lie curiosity was killing him.

"I've got nothing to take." Sherlock said quietly absorbing Jim's form. The effect of his presence on Sherlock was immediate. He could not help staring at his thighs in tight jeans and his shoulders open and slightly brought back.

Jim chuckled ironically.

"As you might have seen the point could be totally different." He took a step closer and the gun in his hand grabbed all of Sherlock's attention. Did he come to kill him now that he refused to continue? But that would have been too obvious, too dangerous to do in his flat in the middle of the day. There must be some other reason.

"What was the point of the whole thing then?" Sherlock could not help being curious. Must Jim have decided to actually eliminate him no matter the risk at least he would have tried to get an answer.

"The thrill, Sherlock," Jim's eyes in the slits of the ski mask flashed and sanity in them had gone away for a moment revealing an abyss. His voice dropped to the hypnotizing low notes. "All this is for the thrill, life is so dull and I am so bored, I have to find something that excites me."

Sherlock met his gaze. He was searching inside himself something that was going to tell him it was wrong, now that he was standing in front of this man. He wanted his moral compass to twitch and indicate the right direction. But the only thing he felt was the anticipation. The intrigue of the moment of unknowing was what kept his spirit alive. Jim needed no words to get his state. He leered at Sherlock like a wolf and Sherlock only wished he were closer, wanted to feel his teeth on his throat.

"The thrill you get in crime, Sherlock, is pretty much the same you get in sex. Once the thrill is gone it becomes boring."

Sherlock watched the gun approach his forehead and when the cold ring of the barrel pressed painfully against his skin he closed his eyes only listening to the beating of his heart. The adrenaline kicked in and he felt champagne bubbles filling his mind almost making him smile blissfully.

"Why did you come?" Sherlock found himself ready for any response and he needed one. He was counting silently and a weird thought crossed his mind: what if Moriarty shoots him now and John will come back home to a horrible mess on the wall?

"Show me your bedroom." Jim's command flicked along Sherlock's spine like a fire leash. He felt a short push in the pit of the stomach as the barrel was not pressing against his forehead anymore.

Almost forgetting to breath he walked towards the door of his bedroom and Jim followed him keeping the gun at the level of the back of his head. He regretted having left his bed unmade. That was an awkward thought given the circumstances. Jim closed the door behind them and urged Sherlock to make a few steps to reach the bed. As his shins touched the edge Jim gave him a slightest push making Sherlock fall on the bed. The mattress bounded back but he found no comfort in lying in his bed this time.

"On your hands and knees." Sherlock's throat clenched but he obeyed. He made his slippers fall to the floor and now had only his pajama bottoms and a t shirt on.

"Head down." Jim's voice made his will melt and his mind floated in a haze of excitement. Thinking of how he looked this moment Sherlock got disturbingly turned on imagining Jim standing over his stuck out arse keeping him at the gun point. For a minute nothing happened. He imagined Jim's face looking down at his prey. He wanted to see his expression but did not dare turn his head. He was growing hard and the tip of his cock was pushing up against his pinstripe trousers.

Sherlock's heart jumped when Jim knelt behind him and lowered Sherlock's pajama bottoms with nothing under. The elastic band squeezed his hamstrings and air washed over his exposed skin. Then the barrel of the gun pushed against his tail bone lifting up the edge of his t shirt and trailed up long Sherlock's back to come to touch the base of his neck. Sherlock shivered violently and the picture in front of his eyes became blurred. He felt sweat rushing to the surface of his skin and electrifying heat spreading over his body. He rutted against the inside Jim's fist when he cupped him and since that moment nothing else but acute arousal existed. Jim stimulated him with a few strokes and then squeezed his balls weighing them in his palm making Sherlock want to plea him to take him without further delay. The t shirt was pulled over his head to cover his face, his legs got spread and he pushed his hips back and forward under Jim's hard cock sliding over his tail bone. He became slave to the rhythm.

"I am now going to remind you how nice it was to meet me." Jim's dark voice made his cock twitch and harden more, the traitorous body lost any connection to his mind and only wanted to be used.

The pressure of the barrel against the back of his head told him to lower his face even more to meet the pillow. His opened mouth was slammed against the cloth and the t shirt rolled up and clutched his throat. The sound of a condom being put on and the pop of a plastic cap left him breathless. He got prepared to go through exhale and inhale steps but Jim took him roughly making him scream and kick but the gun reminded him he could not really oppose to this. Pain and fear mixed with the acute pleasure and shame. His muffled sobs against the pillow made Jim go harder and the change of the angle set Sherlock's senses on fire and his whole body twitched too full of adrenaline and Moriarty's cock which felt just too much this time. Each time it was hitting against his prostate Sherlock thought he would pee himself but only drifted farther away from the reality. Jim was not saying anything but his heavy breath and the way he let the air out of his lungs with each friction told Sherlock there was nothing sentimental about their sex that time. At some point he feared he was going to collapse because his hands and knees went so weak that he could barely keep himself up but instead he came with a tremendous splash all over his sheets. Blood pumped in his temples threating to make his head explode and making everything in front of his eyes go black.

Jim laughed like a maniac and kept fucking him in quick pushes until he got his orgasm triumphant, keeping Sherlock's hips pressed to his crotch with his free hand but Sherlock felt nothing at that point only jerking his whole body like a rag doll in response to being shaken mercilessly.

When Jim laid on top of him making him spread on the bed Sherlock wished he could fall asleep right at that moment. He was worn out. Jim took the t shirt off his head and freed himself of the ski mask. He tossed the gun to the floor and put his chin over Sherlock's shoulder closing his eyes too. They kept still, waiting for their bodies to come back to reality. Jim's chest was pressed against Sherlock's back and he could feel his heart drumming heavily. He thought of taking the gun lying on the floor and shooting Jim, sending his brain off his head, watching it fly and fall down. He was pretty sure he would have managed to.

Jim rubbed the tip of his nose against Sherlock's cheek.

"Tell me you want none of this."

Sherlock knew there was no reason to lie.

"Send me the contract."


End file.
